


We aren't meant for Fairy Tales

by ZeusPeanut



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Book-Canon Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Flirting, M/M, Monster of the Week, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, how many tags should there be, i've messed up the timeline, ignorance is bliss, it's hard to keep track of canon timelines, no beta we die like men, will they wont they, willfully oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeusPeanut/pseuds/ZeusPeanut
Summary: Jaskier knows that as a Fae he should stay as far from Witchers as he can. But then he crosses paths with Geralt and well...Jaskier never has done what he should. How can he say no when he's faced with the swirling vortex of destiny that is the White Wolf?So what he has to work twice as hard to conceal his identity? So what Geralt might kill him or run him off if he finds out that Jaskier isn't a mere human bard? Jaskier's never been happier. Which means it's only a matter of time before something comes along to screw that up for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier is growing tired of the pitiful little audience he’s been playing for. He is over the little inn with its shitty ale and shittier service. He had slipped in and out of as many beds as he had deemed attractive enough. It’s time to move on before the townsfolk put two and two together and realize he isn’t just some bard too confident for his own good. He is, but that isn’t all there is to it and he preferred not to show off the rest. No one thinks much of a troubadour. He doesn’t rouse suspicion or scorn. A travelling bard is welcome everywhere, so a travelling bard he is. A damned good one at that. And it keeps him busy. That’s the main thing, anyway. There had been a time where Jaskier had been eager to explore the world, get out and experience as much of it as he could. And although he does still sometimes view the world with the eyes of a newborn babe, he is falling into a rut of monotony.   
He’s already planning his swift and graceful exit when his eyes fall on the table tucked into the corner of the bar and all his plans fly promptly out the window. The man -no definitely not just a man- at the table seems to be trying his best to blend into the shadows. Jaskier hadn’t noticed when he had come in, which is saying something since he prides himself on his observational skills. But now that he’s noticed him, oh, he’s never going to get him out of his head.   
Turning the crowd off of him is almost disappointingly easy though it does leave him with a handful of bread in his pants for a snack later. Jaskier swaggers easily across the pub, swiping a cup from a disgruntled server on his way.   
"I love the way you just sit there and brood," he hums, leaning casually on a wood beam.  
The white haired mystery nearly growls his words in response "I'm here to drink alone."  
Gods but that voice. Jaskier barely takes note of the thinly veiled warning under the words, pushing off the beam to wave off his words.  
"Good. Yeah, good," Jaskier should turn around and walk away from the stranger. And yet, "no one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance. Except for you," jaskier notes, sliding into the seat on the opposite side of the table.  
Danger rolls off the striking figure in front of him. Adventure. Destiny. Jaskier is hooked. Some rational part of him buried deep deep down groans about how easily he becomes obsessed. Especially with things that could likely kill him.   
"Come on," he goads, his mouth running away from him before that rational part can say goading a man with two massive swords in arms reach is a poor choice. "You don't want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting," the bard facepalms internally. So much for the ever smooth, literally charming pants off an angry husband who has just found him in bed with the man's wife, bard. Alas he plows ahead. "You must have some review for me. Three words or less."  
The exasperated resignation that flashes over the other man's face comes quicker than he anticipates given the less than ideal bread comment. "They don't exist," he grits out like he's explaining the obvious to a very slow child.   
Jaskier is intrigued to say the least "what don't exist?"  
"The monsters. In your song, they don't exist."  
Well. That's rude. "And how would you know?" Jaskier huffs. When he receives only tired silence in reply Jaskier makes a show of looking him over. As if anyone who bothered to look wouldn't know what he was.   
"Oooh fun," he chimes anyway "white hair, big ol' loner, two...very scary swords. I know who you are," he's not an idiot. Jaskier makes a habit of collecting gossip and news in every town he goes to. He's well updated in everything that happens among the kingdoms of men and that includes the tale of the Witcher infront of him.  
Said Witcher is already out of his seat when Jaskier finishes speaking. With barely a moment of thought he's up and after him. "Geralt of Rivia," he calls, satisfied when the Witcher pauses for half a beat before ducking out. 

Ok so maybe it wasn't the best idea to out the man in the middle of a tavern he had been otherwise peacefully enjoying. Enjoying was a strong word. Peacefully existing in. But Jaskier rarely acts on best ideas. It's an arguably even worse idea to follow after someone who not only knows many ways to kill you but has also made it abundantly clear he doesn't want you around. But there Jaskier is, walking back to Posada with a beautiful new lute strapped to his back, the makings of a wonderful new song, and a new purpose in life.  
The song takes off like a spark in a hay bale, more than Jaskier could have ever dreamt. It's only a handful of weeks before the patrons at the tavern he sings at know the words. Satisfaction blooms in his chest at the recognition he receives. But then he finds himself wondering what else the witcher has gotten up to. What adventures has he missed in the few short weeks he's been away? Jaskier had made a promise, a deal even, to change the perception townspeople had of the white wolf. How is he supposed to manage that if he wasn’t there to see any of it?  
That line of thought leads to Jaskier loosely stalking the Witcher with variable success. Sometimes he shows up in towns expecting the witcher will as well, afterall he’s following what word of monsters he can find, only to wait for days with no luck. Other times he arrived only to find out there had been a monster but a white haired witcher had taken care of it. At least in the latter case he knows he is on the right track. But then the cold starts to set in and Jaskier loses track of him entirely. It's like the Witcher falls off the face of the earth. He worries that the Witcher has met some terrible end but can find no word that he has.   
When Jaskier saunters into an inn the following summer, prepared to play a couple nights in exchange for rooms and food, he’s surprised to find out there was a witcher in town not a day past. It’s not that he’d given up. He’s been asking after Geralt since deciding he was going to make the Witcher famous- in a good way this time. But he had started to expect to be shot down. This is the closest he’s been to Geralt in a year so he urges the barkeeper to point him in the right direction and takes off. He barely keeps up an appearance of being a simple bard passing through town long enough to escape any curious eyes before he’s flashing through the trees as quickly as he can. Geralt has half a day on him. But he'll likely camp for the night so if Jaskier can just catch up he might finally make it before Geralt disappears along the Path again. He can only hope since Geralt isn't currently on a contract he's taking things slow, giving Roach a break for a bit.  
Jaskier doesn't stop when the sun dips below the trees, though his legs and lungs protest the exertion. Not that he isn't in shape, but rushing through less travelled paths in the woods is a kind of exercise he isn't used to. He’s forced to slow as darkness descends so he doesn't fall and break his neck on one of the twisted roots peaking through the dirt.  
The sight of a fire through the trees nearly makes Jaskier weep, so relieved is he. Destiny has finally smiled on him, delivering the Bard to his Witcher at last. The moon is high above him as Jaskier takes a moment to catch his breath before he pushes through the underbrush, all casual happenstance. As if he hadn't been obsessively searching for someone he barely knew for a year.   
Geralt looks up at him before he's even in sight, casting a suspicious golden gaze into the tree line. His hand inches toward the hilt of his sword where it's laid out beside him. Jaskier saunters through the underbrush and opens his arms in greeting.   
"Geralt! Fancy seeing you here," he crows with a broad grin.  
Geralt's shoulders relax and his hand let's go of the sword. His lips twitch down into a frown- not the reaction Jaskier was going for. "What are you doing here?"  
Jaskiers smile falters but he barrels on. No way has he tracked the Witcher halfway across the country just to get discouraged now. "I'm a travelling Bard, Geralt. I'm traveling."  
He doesn't wait for an invitation before plopping himself down opposite Geralt and laying out his bedroll. Geralt watches him with an incredulous expression on his face but doesn't protest Jaskiers company so he takes that as a win.   
"The Path isn't safe to travel alone, bard," he finally speaks and is that concern Jaskier hears?   
He smiles sweetly across the flames, "well I'm not alone, am I?" He's captivated for a moment by the way the firelight dances across the Witchers face. It sets his white hair alight in a way that Jaskier wants to write songs about. Not that he would. Because Geralts surely wouldn't appreciate that. Besides, writing songs about your friends hair is weird. And Jaskier certainly didn't want to be weird. So lost is he in thought that he almost misses the eyeroll Geralt sends his way. There's even a small tug at his lips into what could be mistaken for a smile. If you’re squinting.   
Geralt settles into his bed, "Fine. I'm off with sunrise whether you are or not," he grunts, which Jaskier takes to mean that they are leaving at sunrise.   
So he does settle in, though the pleased grin doesn't leave his face even as his eyes slip closed.  
He's woken by the sound of Geralt packing up camp at an ungodly hour. He groans and attempts to burrow deeper in the blankets. The sun is just barely peeking out over the treetops. "If you aren't up and ready by the time I have Roach's tack on, I'm leaving you here Bard."  
"Does it happen to take you three hours to accomplish that? Because that's what I'd like," Jaskier complains. But he's already pulling himself up and going about getting dressed.   
They walk off as soon as Jaskier is ready and if Geralt takes a bit of extra time adjusting his packs on Roach while Jaskier takes his sweet time, he'd never admit it.   
Jaskier is a handful, no doubt but there's something pleasant about travelling with another person. He hadn't expected how much he would resent the silence after Posada. Only a day traveling together and Geralt had been acutely aware of the absence. Even if Jaskier never. Stops. Talking. He has to threaten to throw Jaskiers lute into a stream to get him to finally shoulder the cursed thing. Geralt thinks that'll be the end of it but then they pass a small patch of wildflowers and Jaskier is taking off into the brush, shouting about how they should weave flowers into Roach's mane. Which is absolutely not happening. He allows a single dandelion to be tucked into her bridle just to shut the man up. It works for all of five minutes.   
By the time they reach the next town three days later, Geralt is ready to strangle him.   
"Why don't you go do your Witcher thing and I'll get us a room for the night!" Jaskier suggests, already making off for the inn.  
"Don't have enough coin for a room. Supper, then we'll make camp outside town," Geralt bargains.  
Jaskier scoffs at him "I intend to play for both. And some coin besides. This is a big town, Geralt. Middling at least. They'll be happy to have us!" He seems so sure of it that Geralt just waves him off. Towns aren't usually happy to see Geralt. Relieved, if grudgingly so, but rarely happy.   
He speaks to the blacksmith, who had put the contract out after his son went missing a week ago. The fourth in a string of missing young men. Only one had been found, or atleast, parts had been found. Lacking blood though the limbs that were recovered looked like they had been ripped apart like an old doll. The blacksmith wasn’t looking for his son to come back- Geralt is thankful he won't have to break that news at least- just that whatever remained got a proper burial and the creature was taken down. It isn’t a large reward but it will carry Geralt through until the next job presents itself and he isn’t one to turn down a man in need. Night would be falling soon though and as Geralt has his suspicions about the creatures proficiency in the dark, it's better to wait until morning. The villagers are on high alert as it is and it seems to only be taking someone every ten or so days. So he feels comfortable waiting until the sun is on his side.   
Geralt goes over his supplies in his head, noting what he will need to take with him on the hunt the following day and what can remain at the inn, presumably with the Bard. Roach is set up in the stables for the night, the stablehand seemingly expecting him when he arrives with her. When he makes his way into the inn, he finds Jaskier already dancing from table to table. He's hardly been gone a quarter of an hour but already the bard has them pounding on the table and singing along. Geralt doesn't know how he has managed it in such a short time. The last time he had seen the bard perform had been in Posada and it had been a drastically different response. He's really quite good, there’s no denying it even if Geralt knows little to nothing about music. He takes up a seat at the back, where he won’t disturb the other patrons. No sooner has he sat down than the barmaid is at his table and sets a large mug of beer down.  
Geralt looks up at her in confusion. He hadn’t ordered a drink. “The Witcher, yes? The bard said you’d want a beer. Food’ll be out shortly,” she explains, twisting her fingers nervously in her apron.   
Geralt nods his thanks in reply. He wonders idly how Jaskier has managed it. Not only a room while they were in town but food and drink for them both to boot. Perhaps there are some benefits of keeping him around. He even finds himself tapping his foot along with the more upbeat tunes Jaskier plucks out. How he manages to keep up his energy for the time he plays without stopping was a feat, to be sure. The barmaid has no sooner been by to lay plates of steaming food at his table than Jaskier drops into the chair opposite.   
“Oh this looks lovely, give me a drink of your ale dear,” Jaskier chirps as he reaches for Geralt's mug.   
Geralt presses his lips together in displeasure, watching Jaskier’s throat work as he empties the mug. Jaskier lets the mug slam back onto the tabletop and grins happily at the witcher across from him. He spreads his arms out to encompass the happy patrons and the food in front of them in one gesture. “Well? Not too bad!”   
Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him and hums in response. Jaskier waits a moment to see if he is going to say anything. Thank you maybe. But those gold eyes just keep staring at him. So after a moment Jaskier shrugs and digs into the food. Jaskier fills his belly as quickly as he can, speaking between bites in that way Geralt has noticed he tends to. Like he is just filling the silence, unable to stop the constant stream of thoughts from making themselves known. Just as abruptly as he had appeared, he is up. “The masses await,” called over his shoulder.   
Geralt considers finding his way to his room and getting a few hours extra sleep but can’t quite tear his eyes off the bard and the way he works the crowd. Comfortable at the center of attention in a way that Geralt could never hope to be. He stays, nursing a second ale until Jaskier finally calls it a night, much to his audience’s displeasure.   
“You’re still here,” Jaskier smiles, sauntering over with his lute slung across his back.   
“Hm,” Geralt grunts, downing the last of his drink. “Lets call it a night then.”  
Jaskier turns on his heel and beckoned the witcher after him "as you wish darling."   
Their rooms are small, barely more than a slim bed and a desk with a wash basin perched on it. Jaskier wonders as he curls up in his own mattress, how much Geralt is hanging off the edge of his. He's several inches taller than the bard and Jaskier’s ankles would have fell off the mattress if he straightened out. But it's still better than the packed earth they slept on when they were camping. It's late when Jaskier finally pulls himself out of bed. He isn’t surprised to find out that Geralt had already taken off to deal with the monster. Whatever it was. Jaskier hadn’t actually asked the previous night.


	2. chapter 2

Morning, dearest Vira, would a poor bard be able to get a meal around here? Perhaps an ale to wash it down?” Jaskier sings, leaning casually on the smooth wood of the bar.   
Vira, the barkeep, shakes her head at him but there is a smile playing at her lips. “Afternoon more like, it's nearly noon. Besides, are you paying for this meal love? Or is this to be on the house too?” She's a kind woman, she had been happy to have him play in exchange for room and board and had only been a little wary when he had included Geralt in his bargain. He’s working on that attitude and though ‘Toss a coin’ was spreading fast, one song wasn’t going to change the continent's view.   
Its a stupid view, no doubt, but it had been ingrained in people’s minds for generations. Jaskier can’t see why anyone would be so hateful of people that regularly save their lives and devote their whole existence to ridding the world of monsters. Sure, Geralt was gruff and generally less than welcoming but who could blame him with the way people treated him?  
Jaskier shakes himself from his thoughts and reaches into his pockets in search of coins.   
“You wound me, darling. Last night was a success for us both no doubt. Singing masses make hungry men! And now you ask if I plan to pay for my meal!” Jaskier crows, falling back dramatically into the nearest chair.   
Vira levels him a stern look but her eyes are sparkling, and puts her hand on her hip, “is that a yes or a no?”  
Jaskier places the coins nimbly on the bartop with a bashful grin, “for you, Vira, anything. Including paying for a meal.”  
Vira wipes her hands on her apron and takes the coins before walking off. She returns in what Jaskier is sure is record time with a plate of potatoes and meat. A cup of ale follows shortly after that Jaskier wastes no time in digging into.   
Geralt pushes through the door of the bar covered in dirt and...Jaskiers is pretty sure there is a good deal of blood. Vira pales from her place behind the bar and opens her mouth presumably to tell him to get the hell out. Jaskier beats her to it, standing and rushing over to her before the words could come out.   
“A bath! Darling Vira, a bath for our heroic witcher!” He calls, eyes pleading with her to just go along with him.   
Vira narrows her eyes at him for a moment, flicking between the two of them. “Aye, a bath is in order for sure. I’ll have one drawn. It’ll take a few minutes though,” she trails off with a meaningful look at Geralt’s muck covered boots.   
Geralt grunted in acknowledgement, somewhat surprised she was even willing to draw a bath for him let alone that she hadn’t kicked him out on sight. It seemed like Jaskier had that effect on people. Even when he had come back from their run-in with the elves, Jaskier had beat him there and they were already more welcoming of him than before he had left. It no doubt had little to do with him completing the contract.  
“I need to speak to the blacksmith anyway. I just wanted Jaskier to know I returned.”  
Jaskier is surprised he had bothered. It’s a nice thought, that he had been considerate of Jaskier enough to stop at the inn on his way. Like he knew Jaskier was beginning to worry about him the longer the day stretched.   
It’s long past midday and the inn was starting to fill up with the townspeople searching for early suppers. He hadn’t initially realised how late into the day he had slept but when he noticed, Jaskier wondered if he shouldn’t have gone with Geralt after all. If only just to watch his back.   
Vira nods, her shoulders relaxing with the knowledge she isn’t going to have to fight to have him stay out of her inn while he waits.  
When Geralt turns to leave, Vira does the same. She calls for her daughter to start setting up the tub and pulling water before the door swings shut behind her. Jaskier settles back in his chair, happy to sip on another drink while he waits.   
Geralt must be taking his time on purpose, because Vira is back to let him know the bath is ready before Geralt has returned. He shrugs and makes his way up after her. He’s only just settling into the stool by the window when Geralt walks into the room.   
Geralt stares at Jaskier for a long moment and he wonders if Geralt was going to kick him out. But Geralt shrugs and closes the door behind him.   
Jaskier fiddles with his lute - why had he bothered to bring his lute with him? He hardly needs it to keep Geralt company in the bath. But then he is suddenly very glad he did as it gives him something to do other than watch as Geralt peels off layer after layer of clothes. They make a small pile in the corner, slapping against each other in a way that makes Jaskier wonder if they’re salvageable or best just burned. He pointedly becomes engrossed in tuning his lute when Geralt lets his pants drop to the floor.   
At the sound of water moving, Jaskier looks up. Just in time to see Geralt step fully into the tub. Slowly, committing the sight to memory with a passion he would have been embarrassed to admit, he drags his gaze up pale thighs, an ass he could bounce a coin off of, up to more familiar territory. A back mottled with scars. Except the gaping slash wound cutting across his ribs.   
“Gods Geralt,” Jaskier exclaims, jumping from his stool.   
Geralt glances over at him, one eyebrow raised in question. Jaskier places his lute to the side and busies himself with grabbing rags and bandages. “Were you going to say nothing about that?” he demands incredulously.   
Geralt settles himself into the water, wincing only slightly when it laps against the cut. “I’ll heal soon enough. It’s fine.”  
Jaskier sputters at him for a moment, waving at the sluggish bleeding to articulate his point where words fail him. “It needs to be cleaned, Geralt. Gods know what kind of monstrous gunk is in there. I’ll clean that wound while you tell me all about your adventure.”  
Geralt blows his breath out his nose in a sharp exhale that is almost a snort but he doesn’t protest any further when Jaskier comes at him with a cloth and ointment. He obediently lifts his arm to give the bard better access to his ribs. The warm water eases the tension in his muscles while Jaskier dabs delicately at him. It seems like an awful lot of concern from him for what is little more than a scratch. Or would be in a day or so.   
“Go on then, all the details. What were you after?” Jaskier urges, glancing up at Geralt’s face.   
His eyes are half closed, a frown playing at the edge of his lips. “Ekimmara.”  
Jaskier waits a beat, hoping Geralt will continue but when he doesn’t, he leans back on his heels and makes a motion for Geralt to continue. But he isn’t looking at him, staring at a spot on the wall instead.   
Jaskier groans and leans back in to keep up gently blotting the blood off his skin. “You’ve got to give me more than that. How many? That's like a vampire right? How did it go? How did you get this?”  
He doesn’t receive an answer for long enough that Jaskier begins to wonder if he is actually going to. “Four. they're like giant bat-humans. Tear their victims apart and lick up the blood. They're all dead now. Made their nest in a cave. One caught me with its talon going down. Does that answer your questions, bard?”   
Jaskier presses his lips together and gives Geralt an exasperated look, “only in the barest sense. We’ll put some ointment and bandages on this when you get out.”  
“If you insist,” Geralt nods before slipping under the water a moment to rinse his hair. He pushes his hands roughly through it. The action makes Jaskier wince as the man's fingers catch in the snarls the white locks are in.   
“Oh would you stop that? You’re ruining your hair like that,” Jaskier huffs, shoving the witcher’s hands out of the way.   
Geralt pulls away from him, craning his neck to give Jaskier an incredulous look. Jaskier raises his eyebrows at him, daring the other man to tell him he is wrong. After a breath Geralt huffs and settles back against the edge of the tub.  
Jaskier grins at him and goes about combing through the long white hair. When it falls smoothly through the tines he sets about rinsing it out with a lightly scented soap. He has noticed Geralt doesn’t seem to like things that smell strongly.   
By the time Jaskier is done, Geralt’s hair is in the best shape it has been in years. One wash isn’t going to undo a lifetime of harsh treatment. But he feels good having been able to do something nice. He has a feeling, much as he dislikes it, that people don’t often do nice things for Geralt. Jaskier is tempted to braid his hair while Geralt is so obliging but thinks that really would be pressing his luck.  
Jaskier sits back and wipes his hands off on a towel. Geralt peeks up at him from where he had been dozing under Jaskiers' ministrations. With a grumble, he goes about cleaning the rest of the muck off himself. Jaskier goes back to idly plucking at his lute.   
“I’m going to have to make up the details if you wont give them to me, darling,” Jaskier hums. With only Geralt's typical grunt in reply, Jaskier shrugged. “The white wolf, so strong and so brave, fought off the vampires in a cave...blood sucking bats, they’ll tear you limb from limb; if they manage to cut you, your outlook is grim.” Jaskier trails off with a frown “that’s off to a terrible start then, yes?” he glances over at the witcher who merely lifts a shoulder.   
“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” Geralt hums, scrubbing at the blood under his nails.   
Jaskier pauses and looks up more fully at him. He knows he is imposing on Geralt, that he probably would rather bathe alone but he hadn’t told him to leave when he had come in so he had assumed Geralt didn’t mind much. “I don’t mind. I like the peace to compose. And I’m glad I could clean you up a bit. But if you really want me to. No, of course you want me to. You wouldn’t have said otherwise. Sorry I shouldn’t have assumed. Of course you want to be alone.”  
“Jaskier” Geralt cuts him off, turning at the waist to look at him more fully. “Stop talking. It’s fine. Stay.”  
Jaskier takes a deep breath and smiles shyly “truly? Alright. Ok.”  
When Geralt finally steps out of the tub, towel slung low across his hips, Jaskier has to admit that his cut does look less serious even though it has only been an hour. It makes his stomach twist thinking about what it must have looked like when it happened.   
Jaskier returns to the tavern when Geralt is bandaged to his satisfaction, playing for their rooms for one more night. The audience has grown since the previous night. Happy that the threat is gone and that the tavern will be filled with music. He stumbles to his room well past midnight with a warning from Geralt that they are heading out early the next morning.   
True to his word, Geralt pounds on his door at an ungodly hour threatening to leave him if he doesn’t hurry up. Jaskier groggily packs his bags and stumbles out after the Witcher. Vira waves them off and discreetly hands Jaskier a small sack full of fresh fruit, a loaf of bread, and a wedge of hard cheese. Jaskier sweeps an elegant bow before pressing a kiss on her cheek by way of thanks and hurrying out after Geralt. He shows Geralt the sack of food and is still extolling the woman's many good qualities by the time they disappear into the woods once again.  
"Where are we off to now, dearest Witcher?" Jaskier questions after they had been walking for the better part of the afternoon. Geralt has been tuning him out for the most part as Jaskier tends to keep up a steady stream of words. though he isn't sure how the bard isn’t exhausted. Geralt usually splits his time walking and riding Roach, and he is in much better shape than Jaskier. But if the bard is tiring from the constant talking and walking he doesn’t show it.  
"Next town is about eight days from here," he informs him, grabbing a water skin from his pack and taking a drink before passing it to Jaskier.   
Jaskier throws his head back to groan dramatically but accepts the water after a pointed look from Geralt. It’s going to be a long eight days.   
Geralt likes Jaskier, though he's loathe to admit it. he’s good company and he finds himself missing the constant chatter when Jaskier's gone. Its a different story in the moment, however. Geralt has just about left Jaskier in the woods to fend for himself after travelling for three days.   
He wants to frequently stop for every little thing and Geralt is losing patience. Thinly veiled excuses for breaks, the Witcher assumes. Jaskier talks non-stop and though he is in good shape it is surely harder than the type of lifestyle he's accustomed to. Every patch of flowers or little stream has Jaskier begging to stop a moment to pick flowers or splash his face. He’s even gone so far as to make Geralt stop and use Roach as a boost so he could return a baby bird to its nest.   
Only the thought that Jaskier would likely end up getting himself killed if left to his own devices stops Geralt from leaving him.  
Jaskier, on the other hand, knows he’s in trouble. If for a different reason than Geralt would have thought. Jaskier had realized the night before, watching Geralt turn a rabbit on a spit over the fire, that he was well and truly falling for the Witcher. He is under no illusions that Geralt might feel the same.   
Jaskier is used to unrequited love seeing as he has a tendency to fall in love fast and often. He falls a little bit in love with everyone he sleeps with, if he’s honest about it, and that’s a staggering number in and of itself. Not to mention he often fell in love with little pieces of people. Cherished moments in time the way a child cherished their favourite toy. A kind and pretty barmaid that twisted her hair around a finger while she flirted with him. A baker that winked at him when Jaskier hesitated over the man's sinfully good smelling cinnamon bread. Little pieces of Jaskiers heart were strewn about the continent.   
But the love building in his chest for the white wolf is deeper than all that. He’s royally screwed. Jaskier quickly makes a plan, the next time they part ways, which won't be long since they're approaching fall and they usually split for the winter, he'll find a pretty noble and thoroughly cleanse his system of the Witcher. That's all he needs, surely. Something new to obsess over for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, I hope you enjoy this installment!   
> I've hopefully remedied the text blocks into smaller paragraphs this time around :)   
> Let me know what you think, what would make this story better, anything at all!


	3. chapter 3

The town the duo find themselves in is really more a collection of small houses surrounded by farms. No Inn or tavern in sight which doesn’t bode well for their chances of sleeping under a roof for the night.  
The villagers mill about casting the strangers wary looks as they go about their business. Jaskier deftly swings his lute around and begins plucking a few notes. If nothing else, it tends to settle peoples nerves. He trails after Geralt, fingers plucking out the beginnings of a ballad on his way.  
While Geralt looks over the notice board, Jaskier leans against the post and tips his head back with a sigh. "Anything of interest?" He hums when they’ve stood there for a few minutes.  
Geralt lifts a shoulder in a shrug "not of my usual sort. Here." He pulls a slip of parchment off the board and passes it to Jaskier.  
The bard gives a final strum and takes the paper offered to him. The words are scrawled across the page hastily, several ink blots maring the surface. It’s a reminder, though it reads more like a warning that the farmers were to have things collected for The Crows for their arrival the following night.  
Jaskier frowns down at the words then up at Geralt. "What are the 'Crows'?"  
"Don't know. Doesn't sound like they're happy about whatever it is," Geralt grumbles. "Might as well find out before we move on."  
Geralt doesn’t like to meddle in the affairs of men, he’s said as much a thousand times. But he’s a good man and despite the ‘code’ he supposedly follows, Geralt can’t stand by when something is unjust. He'll just deny it without a thought. They just need money. Or he just wants information. There's a thousand excuses. But it boils down to Geralt being, at his core, a hero. A man with a kind soul. A man Jaskier desperately needs to fall out of love with, not further in love.  
So Jaskier nods and turns to scan the land around them before landing on the nearest farmer. The man is carrying a hoe and seems to be heading towards his house though he keeps shooting glances their way. Jaskier waves enthusiastically at him and smiles. The man's eyebrows come together in confusion but he sets the tool down and hobbles his way over to them.  
"Hello fine sir! What a splendid day!" Jaskier calls as soon as he is in earshot. He can practically hear Geralt's eye roll behind him.  
The old man seems taken aback by Jaskiers greeting but doesn’t stop making his way over to them. He is older, wispy grey hair sticks out under his cap and what little skin shows between his massive beard and high collared shirt is weathered and sun-browned. "Can I help you lads with something?" He casts wary eyes at Geralt, taking in the imposing weapons and worn armour.  
Jaskier steps forward to hold out the notice so the man can see it. "Jaskier, good sir. And this is Geralt of Rivia. perhaps you've heard of us. We were just wondering if you could tell us about this," he requests.  
If the farmer had heard of them he gives no indication of it and he barely glances down at the paper. "The Crows," he spits the name, "come round once a fortnight or so to collect a share of our food and livestock to feed their cursed band. Nearly starving us of our winter store in the process."  
Geralt frowns at the information, "bandits then?"  
"Aye. Leader looks like he mighta been in the army once. But he ain't anymore. You're a Witcher aren't you? here to clear em out? Or join em?" The farmer demands, though he is looking doubtfully at Jaskier. Whether he’s doubtful he'd be of any help clearing out a group of bandits or if he doesn’t think Jaskier would be of any use to them is unclear.  
Geralt shrugs "see what we can do. You know where they camp?"  
The man scratches at his beard then nods, pointing off to where the ground raises up at the edge of his field into a large hill dotted with rocks and trees. "Just on the other side, I reckon. Haven't been there myself of course. We've not much money to pay you. Sure we can scrounge something up though by the time you're through."  
Geralt nods "take care of Roach. Jaskier you stay as well." Handing the reins over to the farmer, he grabs some supplies from Roach's bags and strides off.  
Jaskier gapes at him for a moment before taking off after him. "I'm coming with you Geralt," he huffs when he finally does catch up.  
Geralt rounds on him and Jaskier nearly rams into his chest as a result. "no. Stay with the farmers. Bandits are dangerous. I can't protect you while I'm focused on fighting them."  
Jaskier plants his hands on his hips and jutts his chin out defiantly. "You don't need to. You need someone to watch your back. And besides! You don't give me any details! How am I supposed to sing of your heroic adventures when you won't tell me about them!?"  
Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Fighting a group of criminals isn’t material for one of your songs, Jask,” Geralt shakes his head. “Stay quiet, stay out of the way, and by the gods, Jaskier, stay out of trouble. Do you even have a weapon to defend yourself?"  
Jaskier gives a mock salute, beaming at the Witcher. From his boot he produces a slim dagger with an ornate silver handle. Geralt groans at the sight of it, imagining how little damage Jaskier would inflict with the decorative knife. But he can see the determination in the bard's face and knows he isn't going to let it go until Geralt agrees. Or he'll wait and sneak after him which is arguably worse since Geralt wouldn't at least know where he was.  
So he turns on his heel and returns to walking the direction the farmer had pointed them. As they crest the hill Geralt lowers to a crouch and gestures for Jaskier to do the same. Jaskier huffs a laugh but at the dark look Geralt casts at him, obliges and drops into a crouch beside him. They creep up the rest of the hill until Geralt can get a glimpse of the bandits camp. They have erected a camp in a clearing at the base of the hill. Crude walls made out of roughly felled trees surround the circle of tents. Eight tents total. Geralt sighs, at least eight bandits with unknown skills and weapons. Enough that they had terrorized a small village.  
"Will you stay up here?" Geralt demands, drawing his steel sword.  
Jaskier chews his lip. Considering his options. "I can't see anything from up here," he says instead.  
Geralt hangs his head in exasperation. "The tree line then. No further. I can't keep an eye on you while I'm fighting."  
Jaskier frowns at the Witcher, arms crossed defiantly. "I'm not a child Geralt. I've survived many years without you watching over me."  
"And you spent how many of those years marching into bandit camps?" Geralt growls impatiently.  
Jaskier glares at him. He can't exactly answer without giving himself away. Geralt takes his lack of an answer as all the information he needs. "The treeline Jaskier."  
He picks his way down the hill, trusting that the bard won't be close behind him.  
Jaskier obligingly pauses when he reaches the last of the trees around the camp. If only just long enough for Geralt to pull the crude gate open and disappear within. As soon as he hears the commotion of the bandits grabbing their weapons he eases closer until he has a good enough view of Geralt. The Witcher cuts through two easily as they charge at him. The others are more cautious, sizing him up before taking him on. Jaskier watches, chewing his nails anxiously as Geralt fends them off. There are more than he had anticipated, twelve in total. Two have crossbows, forcing Geralt to dodge arrows as well as swords. Two of the bandits circle Geralt as he is distracted with the other men.  
"Geralt, behind you!" Jaskier shouts when he realizes Geralt hadn't seen them break off.  
Geralt spins, slashing out as he does and manages to catch the blade of one of their swords. It costs him though. In his distraction, he fails to dodge a bolt. It sinks into the flesh of his calf. Geralt snarls in pain, the leg giving out so he is forced to kneel. The other man keeps coming at him and Jaskier reacts without thinking. He hoists the dagger and with practiced ease, flicks his wrist. It sails across the camp to embed itself in the exposed flesh of the bandits neck. The man gurgles, stumbling forward in shock before he collapses.  
There are two left. One has dropped the crossbow in favour of a mace. Intent on taking advantage of Geralt's injury he rushes forward, Geralt forces himself to his feet to clash with him. The other pulls a shortsword from his belt and stalks forward. Jaskier curls his lip in a feral expression and digs his hands into the ground. Elder falls from his lips, calling forth the roots of the trees around him. They burst up to twist around the man's ankle, anchoring him just out of reach of Geralt. With a manic grin Jaskier urges them on until he hears the sickening snap of an ankle breaking. The bandit cries out, dropping the sword in favour of clawing at the roots gripping his leg and Jaskier sits back in satisfaction.  
Having dispatched the bandit with the mace, Geralt turns to the last, looking down in confusion at the bone protruding between roots. Seeing the man isn't a threat anymore, Geralt sinks his sword into the ground and grabs the man by the hair.  
"Leave the villages be," Geralt warned.  
The man frantically nods, begging Geralt to help him free his leg.  
The Witcher casts it a suspicious look, unsure how the bandit had managed to end up ensnared in roots. Jaskier isn't sure how he is going to explain that. Or his handy assassination. But he wipes his hands off hastily and rushes into the camp only pausing long enough to yank the dagger from the man's neck. He makes a face at the blood coating the blade and wipes it on the grass.  
"Are you alright? Meliteles tits Geralt. That's gone all the way through your leg!" Jaskier exclaims.  
Geralt grunts and limps past him. He doesn’t stop until they are at the base of the hill once again. Finally he pauses long enough to lean against a tree trunk and sharply yank the bolt out, letting loose a string of curses in the process.  
Jaskier reaches out to help, steady him or bandage his leg, he isn't really sure. But Geralt brushes his hand away before he can. Jaskier frowns and pulls back, allowing Geralt the space he seems to need.  
"What kind of bard throws daggers like that?" Geralt demands, eying him as he straightens.  
Jaskier fidgets under the weight of the amber gaze. He doesn’t like the distrust Geralt suddenly has in his eyes. Jaskier is no longer some non threatening presence simply following Geralt around and annoying him.  
Has he really blown his cover so easily? How long has Jaskier roamed the realm relatively unnoticed? He's done so well until getting tangled up with the Witcher. If Geralt figures him out it could spell the end of Jaskier. Or end up pushing him back to the Wild, and he's pretty sure he'd rather die. Panic tumbles through Jaskiers chest for a long breath, thoughts running a mile a minute. But every second he doesn't answer, the space between him and Geralt grows, the distrust builds.  
Jaskier is always quick with a response so any hesitation gives him away. Jaskier forces a breath, pushing past the tightness of his ribs closing in around his lungs and buries all thoughts of Fae deep down until only the current Jaskier remains.  
The bard shrugs and looks at the trees around him. "You’ve said it yourself a hundred times. The roads can be dangerous when you're traveling alone." Geralt continues to stare at him. "Besides. I'm just naturally talented at many things. Perhaps it was just luck that it landed in his neck like that," it hadn't been, but he dances around the truth with an ease that came with many lifetimes.  
"Hm," Geralt pulls himself up to stand. He doesn’t look satisfied but he also doesn’t seem like he's going to press the issue. Jaskier tries not to fidget anxiously while Geralt mulls it over.  
"The roots? Did you see what happened?" He asks after a moment and Jaskier deflates a bit.  
He had hoped Geralt wasn't going to ask about it. Write it off as a weird coincidence. But Jaskier should have known better. Geralt isn't one to drop things. Especially suspicious things that couldn't be explained.  
"He might have just tripped and fell the wrong way," might have. Didn't, but he could have.  
Geralt shakes his head, "not like that. There was magic, I could smell it."  
Jaskier mentally curses. Of course the Witcher could smell magic. Why would anything ever be easy for him? How much could he smell? Can he smell the same magic lingering on Jaskier? Did Jaskier always smell like magic? Surely if that had been the case Geralt wouldn't still be travelling with him. "what did it smell like?" Jaskier asks cautiously instead.  
Geralt shrugs "not dark magic. Not a curse. Never smelled magic like that before."  
Relief blooms in his chest, at least Geralt hadn't identified it as fae magic. And if he hasn't encountered Fae magic before he's less likely to connect Jaskiers little tells together and piece together the big secret.  
Jaskier’s shrug mimics the witchers, "I wouldn't have thought there was much you hadn't run into in your lifetime. Ya know, exposed to all kinds of monsters. Hard to believe there's still things you haven't seen before," Jaskier muses, "have you seen a unicorn before? What about a jackalope?"  
If there's one way Jaskier knows to get Geralt to drop a topic, it's to spin it in a ridiculous direction until the Witcher doesn't want to talk about anything at all.  
Geralt huffs, offering Jaskier a hand up over a particularly unstable outcropping of rocks without even thinking about it. "Neither of those exist."  
Jaskier grins at his profile. He had clearly dismissed Jaskier as a danger to himself. As he should. Jaskier would never hurt him. Certainly not as he is falling for him more and more by the minute. "You don't know that!" He argues, glad the distraction had worked.  
Back at the village, they seek out the farmer, still arguing about the existence of a growing list of monsters.  
"Oh thank you, Witcher. We might make it through the winter yet. Please, we don't have much but take this. I've no room in the house for you to rest. But you'll not go hungry for your trouble." The farmer presses a small bag of coins into Geralt's hands and waves for the pair to follow them. "We've put together a bit of a celebration in thanks. Matthias is just roasting a pig and his wife Mavis should be coming out with a fair feed of carrots and the like. I've got a mind to open a cask of cider if that's to your taste."  
The farmer talks on about the other villagers as they approached a circle of people already gathering around a large fire. The sun is nearly gone, painting the sky in oranges and pinks in the background.  
"Would there be somewhere I could patch up our darling hero?" Jaskier requests, ignoring Geralt's protest.  
The farmer, Iain shows them to his house; a little two room cabin with just enough room for a table and hearth in the main living space. Jaskier ushers Geralt into a chair, talking over him every time he makes an attempt to tell Jaskier he is fine. Blood is still dripping down his leg, leaving bloody footprints behind him and Jaskier isn't about to let him go on like that.  
"I'm going to bandage it and that's the last I'll hear about it, dear heart. It'll sully our reputation if nothing else, to have you limping around all bloody like this." Jaskier bustles around, dipping a cloth in water and blotting out the worst of the drying blood. It’s a good thing Geralt wears so much black.  
They spend the rest of the evening being plied with food and drink. Geralt picks a tree stump near the fire to settle down onto and Jaskier isn't long pulling out his Lute to sing and dance about the celebration.  
Geralt doses by the fire, several drinks deep, watching with drooping eyes as Jaskier beats the farmers at yet another drinking game.the man is slurring, sure enough, but several men have lost their suppers or stumbled off into the night unable to keep up. It's a marvel, if in a very concerning way, that a man his size has such a stomach for alcohol. Not that his friend is small, he's only a few inches shorter than Geralt, and still broad if not a little soft. But the farmers arent small by any means and tend to be well practiced at drinking.  
When Geralt allows himself a light nap, it's to the sound of Jaskier taunting the other men into another round. Geralt hums a small laugh in the space between sleep and waking. Jaskier is rather amusing when he's not directing his manic energy Geralt's way. The next morning they are off with the sun despite Jaskiers many very ardent complaints. Geralt briefly considers allowing the man a break, the bard practically has alcohol coming out of his pores and it's really a wonder he can even stand.  
Perks of life as a bard, he supposes, one would have to build up a tolerance when they spend most of their time in taverns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for tuning in for another chapter! How are you finding it so far? Any thoughts on characters or story or anything?  
> Drop me a comment and let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

A year passes in a blur and before Jaskier knows it the leaves are falling from trees again and it is beginning to get too cold in the nights to comfortably sleep outside. 

When they reach the next town Jaskier waves Geralt off to find a contract while he arranges rooms for them. It has been a bit of a routine when they reach towns large enough that Jaskier can trade a night of performing for rooms. Otherwise they save their coin and make do on the outskirts of villages.

When Geralt finally makes it back to the inn, Jaskier is already in the middle of a song. The crowd is beginning to warm up to him, though he pauses long enough to wiggle his fingers at Geralt in acknowledgment when they meet eyes. 

Geralt settles into a seat near the back and orders a drink. It's a marvel to him, how comfortably Jaskier can command an audience. He's swinging his lute like he's leading it in a dance around the space that he's occupied. Geralt can't keep his eyes off him, which he decides not to examine too closely. It's always like this, he knows, there's something magic in Jaskiers music. Not in the way that makes Geralt's medallion hum, but in a way that it casts a spell over everyone who hears it. He's ethereal up there, lost in his own song. 

"So when your hope's on fire  
But you know your desire  
Don't hold a glass over the flame,"

Geralt recognizes the tune behind the lyrics, Jaskier had been working on it relentlessly the past few days. It's often how he works, strumming whatever new song he's written as they go, muttering to himself and making changes. A small town like this, Jaskier has remarked, is the perfect place to test out a new song. If they like it, he knows it's a good start. If they don't, there's no great loss..

"Don't let your heart grow cold  
I will call you by name  
I will share your road,"

Jaskier's many things, Geralt has come to know, outside of just an incredible musician. He's smart, with a keen eye and a sharp wit. He's a magnet for trouble and doesn't shy away from mischief. But Geralt enjoys having him around and there's no arguing with the benefit of having a charismatic travel partner to smooth things out with towns folk. 

"But hold me fast, hold me fast  
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer  
And hold me fast, hold me fast,"

They seem to enjoy the song, judging by the applause and the coins tossed in Jaskiers direction. Geralt finds himself smiling into his cup, proud of his bard. His friend, the bard, Geralt amends without much thought. 

He sips the last of the his drink as Jaskier bids the crowd a good night. They give a final cheer and Jaskier deftly hands off a hat, some ridiculous felt monstrosity that makes Geralt roll his eyes, but the bar patrons pass it around, dropping coins into it to show their appreciation.

"Ready for bed, dearest?" Jaskier asks, a coy expression playing across his face. He reaches a hand forward to push through Geralt's loose hair. 

Geralt gives a short nod and pushes his chair back. He has long since gotten used to how affectionate Jaskier is. The bard is a massive flirt, he had noticed quickly, anyone and everyone was fair game. It often ended up getting the bard in trouble since he had no issue in flirting with wives while their husbands sat at their sides. 

But it makes Geralt feel warm, another thing he is determined not to examine. Maybe its that so few people are willing to touch Geralt, let alone with affection. Sure, he can usually find a warm bed when he wants that kind of company, but they usually just want the story of having bedded a Witcher. They expect a certain kind of night from him. Soft , affectionate touches aren't usually involved. Especially the thoughtlessly caring touch that Jaskier always has. So he merely flicks his hair back into place and waves Jaskier ahead of him. 

Jaskier leads him towards the stairs with a flourish. “After me, dear witcher. Though there is something you should know about our room.”

Geralt stops, one foot on the next step and groans. “Did you say our room?”

Jaskier turns at the top of the stairs and rubs a hand along the back of his neck. His cheeks flush red “well, you see. They are actually pretty booked in at the moment. So there aren’t a lot of empty rooms. Only one actually. But she said it's a large room. With a large bed. So i thought. Well that's better than no bed and we’ve got it for as long as it takes for you to finish your contract. If another room comes open she’ll give us that too.” Jaskier rambles on until Geralt finally lifts a hand to stop him. 

He heaves a world weary sigh. Nothing is ever as simple as it could be. He resumes the climb up the steps and follows Jaskier to their room. The bed is large, for an inn. A couple would probably be comfortable in it, but Geralt and Jaskier are not a couple. So Geralt doesn’t hesitate to pull out the chair by the small window and strip the bed of one of its blankets. “You can have the bed then,” he says over his shoulder, turning his back to strip out of his armour. 

Jaskier does the same, folding his clothes neatly on the desk until he is just in his tunic. “Don’t be silly Geralt. That chair is going to leave you with all kinds of sore spots and kinks in your neck. And you’ll need to be in prime shape if you're going to take on whatever beast is plaguing this fine town. We’re two grown adults. We can share a bed without it being…”Jaskier choses that moment to turn around only to find Geralt without a shirt, undoing the laces of his pants. Suddenly his throat is very dry. It never gets old, seeing Geralt undress, “Being strange that is,” he croaks. 

He takes a moment to appreciate the sculpted lines of muscles in Geralt's chest. The way his pale skin is freckled with scars from monsters past. The large slash along his ribs from the ekimmara had healed better than expected, he notes idly. There's a little trail of hair below Geralt’s belly button that dips below his pants in a tantalizing way. Jaskier imagines sinking his teeth into the muscles cording over sharp hip bones. He clears his throat and forces his eyes up to the ceiling. Geralt turns to raise an eyebrow at him, setting his thin undershirt onto the chair. 

Ploughing on as if nothing is amiss, Jaskier slides into the bed and wiggles himself over to the far side. “See, plenty of space. I’ll tuck myself into this blanket and you use that one. We’ll practically be sleeping separately and we'll both get a good night's rest.” Jaskier thinks of how he’ll be able to feel the heat the Witcher throws, how he’d be able to just reach out and touch the other man, shirtless and in bed with him. Jaskier isn’t going to sleep a wink, he’s fairly certain.

Geralt eyes the space left on the bed. Even pressed against the wall as Jaskier is, there would be just enough room to lay on his back without touching the other man. There is no way the bard is going to stay like that the whole night. But it is awfully tempting. Because of how comfortable the mattress looks. of course. There is nothing wrong with allowing himself simple pleasures when given the opportunity. So he toes off his boots, deciding it's best to leave his pants on if nothing else, and sinks onto the edge of the bed. He settles under the blanket with his back to Jaskier. Nervous energy radiates off of the man behind him, shifting as subtly as he can in an attempt to get comfortable without disturbing him. 

“Just move already Jaskier,” he grumbles, stuffing one of the pillows under his head. 

“Sorry,” Jaskier chirps before settling down more thoroughly in the bed. “Sweet dreams Geralt.”

Geralt hums in reply, eyes already starting to droop closed. 

When Jaskier wakes up he is confused. There is a heavy weight on his stomach. He is inexplicably warm. What are his feet touching? Groggily, he pries his eyes open then blinks several times in case he is actually dreaming. He’s laying on his back with one arm over his head, the other stuffed under the pillow beside him. Geralt is laying on his stomach, his head on the pillow Jaskiers arm is under. The hand farthest from Jaskier has wrapped around his wrist under the pillow effectively pinning him in place. Geralt's other arm is thrown out across Jaskier’s stomach. Their sides are pressed together and Jaskier’s slim legs tangle with Geralt’s, his feet pressing against the muscle of the witcher's calves. Jaskier gapes at the other man's relaxed face. 

How had they ended up like that? Sure he moved around in his sleep quite a bit. And he was known to be an avid cuddler. But he had half expected to wake up wrapped around an unwilling witcher. And yet here they were. 

Geralt heaves a sigh in his sleep, strong hand flexing around Jaskier’s wrist. The bard hastily closes his eyes, hoping he can pretend to be asleep for a moment. He isn’t sure what he's supposed to say to him. 

Geralt huffs, Jaskier can feel his breath fan against his face, before slowly withdrawing from the bed. “I’m heading off. You’ll stay here until I’ve finished?” he bustles around the room, clearly not fooled by Jaskier’s closed eyes. 

Jaskier gives up the ruse in favour of watching Geralt add layer after layer of armour. When he looks over at him in the middle of strapping his swords to his back Jaskier nods and stretches. “But I want all of the details when you get back. I need more fodder for a song.”

Geralt gives him a grunt that sounds an awful lot like an eyeroll, and promptly disappears out the door. Jaskier flops back onto the bed and scrubs a hand over his face. How is he going to face Geralt when he comes back? A problem for later, he decides, grabbing Geralt's pillow and throwing it over his face. A couple more hours would do him good. 

When he does drag himself out of bed it's hours later but the woman behind the counter obligingly fetches him a bowl of stew. It's the kind that has a variety of mushy vegetables and a thick savory soup that coats the tender chunks of meat. It's satisfying and only slightly spoiled by the mug of warm ale. When he's polished the meal off, he considers playing for the meager lunch crowd but it seems a wasted effort so he pushes off the barstool and sets out into the town.

It's a decent size town and as the harvest is winding down, there are vendors set up along the streets hawking wares. 

Jaskier dances down the street, fingers tripping lightly over the fabric on display at one table, the thick wool at another. A mouthwatering aroma wafts to him and Jaskier practically floats over to it. 

A large man with a larger gut grins at Jaskier from across a makeshift table laden with pastries. He lets Jaskier eye the food easily, like he knows how well he has Jaskier under his spell. They all look delicious, Jaskier doesn't need to eat as much as humans do, but he thoroughly enjoys it. He considers buying one of each, throwing all the money in his pocket down on the table and finding out how many pastries the man would let him walk away with. 

"Give me one of those-" Jaskier points to a sticky bun that looks like it has apples in it "-and two of those small ones." They look like some sort of meat tart. Geralt will like them and it'll be nice to have a small surprise for him when the Witcher gets back. 

Jaskier exchanges a few coins, less than he thinks is fair, for the three pastries. The meat pies get tucked into his bag and he takes an eager bite of the apple bun. The noise he makes at the explosion of sweetness on his tongue is obscene. The baker chuckles, folding his arms across his chest with a satisfied grin.

"You sir, are like a god among men. A true master of your craft," Jaskier groans between mouthfuls of amazing baked goods. 

He picks up a long woven scarf, a mix of green, blue, and gold that makes his eyes sparkle. It's soft and warm, everything Jaskier will need in the coming winter. Finally he makes a stop at a farmer's stall and fills the empty space in his bag with a variety of produce that will travel well.

He returns to the inn as the sun sets, starting to wonder if he should have gone after Geralt. Usually a contract in a town like this didn't take very long. The monsters aren't subtle if they're giving a town of any size a hard time. it was the ones that lurked in the woods and picked off errant villagers from little hamlets that tended to take Geralt longer to deal with. But he'd roused Geralt's suspicion in their run-in with the bandits all that time ago and Jaskier has done his best to stay under Geralt's notice since then. Geralt is fully capable of taking care of himself, Jaskier decides. Besides he had heard when he had been playing the night before that they thought it was a werewolf. One overgrown mutt isn't going to take Geralt down. 

So he takes up a stool in the corner of the inn, props his feet up on the table and starts strumming a tune. The crowd is still fairly small so early in the evening. Jaskier likes to reserve his energy for when everyone is well into their cups and likely to reward him more for high energy and jigs. 

"That Marion's got another one on the way, that's 5 now."

"-and then the idiot falls off his horse and has to walk home!"

Jaskier lets his awareness expand slowly, like a cat stretching after a particularly good nap. Geralt won't be back for a while yet so he doesn't need to worry about the Witcher sensing the shift. If he can. Jaskier isn't really sure how much Geralt can sense his Fae magic but he'd rather err on the side of caution.

"Jacob didn't come home last fall, off to the city you reckon?"

"Probably run off together. Heard the Lord had her all set to be married off to an old merchant in Redania!" 

The information washes over him without much thought. It's usually just standard small town gossip. But he files each snippet away incase it turns out to be important.

"Hear that Witcher is out after the beast. Think he'll come back?" 

That conversation piques the Fae's interest, the speaker is well into his cups, starting to slur his words. But he spits the words with a dark humor that Jaskier doesn't appreciate.

"Hard to say. Like betting on a dog fight," another man laughs, "I mean he's practically as much a beast as the werewolf is." 

Jaskier frowns, letting his feet drop to the floor to sit up more fully. He casually scans the bar, trying to pick out where the conversation is coming from.

"Hear he and the minstrel bunk up together."  
A drunken laugh. "You think he's fucking him? That's sick."

"What kind of sick fuck...fucks a Witcher. They're hardly human." 

Jaskier's brows twitch together for a moment before smoothing into a cheerful expression. he stands up to move under the guise of dancing between patrons. 

"Gods, someone should put him down. Like rabid animals, they are." Another laugh. 

It's all Jaskier needs to find them. A table to the back of the tavern. Three men with a pile of dishes and empty cups. Big guts and red faces from drink. Jaskier forces himself away from the table to bring his lute back to safety, hands flexing angrily. He's pleased to hear several groans of displeasure at his break, but he has more pressing concerns. 

Lute safe, Jaskier picks his way back across the tavern. If anyone were truly watching, if they knew what to look for or weren't all well into their drinks, there'd be no mistaking Jaskier for harmless. Though he manages to hold his glamour through sheer force of habit, there's an air of menace hanging over him. His jaw works angrily and he stalks the table like a wolf after sheep.

They don’t pay him any notice as he approaches, oblivious to the impending storm. Jaskier moves fluidly to reach forward and grasp the closest man by the back of his head. In the same motion he thrusts the man forward to slam his head onto the table with enough force that he's knocked out instantly. 

The other two leap to their feet, shouting angrily and lunging at him. Jaskier dances out of the way, graceful as a swan. They are drunk and it gives him an easy advantage. As he steps back, his hand swipes a mug of ale from the table behind him and throws it at the nearest man. It catches him across the face and breaks, leaving a rapidly bleeding wound along his cheek. 

“If you ever” Jaskier accentuates the word with a punch to the third’s gut “utter so much as a complaint about Geralt of Rivia or any other Witcher for that matter,” Jaskier dodges between the two of them, a crazed grin striking his face when he lands a hit on the same cut from the mug, sending blood splattering against his knuckles and onto his face. “I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to you.” 

The third man grabs Jaskier by the shirt and spins him around, landing a punch across Jaskier’s jaw. 

The bard stumbles back, lightly touching his lip where he has begun to bleed. Jaskier licks at the wound and eyed the two. His eyes take a feral glint, “I’ll cut out your eyes and shove them up your arse!” he shouts before launching off his feet to throw himself at the nearest, the man with a cut. 

Feet off the ground, Jaskier anticipates colliding with him but never makes it. Arms wrap around his waist, halting him in mid air before bodily yanking him backwards. Jaskier reflexively flails against the hold on him, arms swinging to try and get a grip on the person holding him.

“Jaskier. Fuck. Calm down.” Geralt’s voice is tense in his ear. 

It's enough to make Jaskier pause, if only for a moment before his eyes land back on the two men now sizing Geralt up. 

“Let me go, Geralt. I’m going to tear them apart!” He threatens, trying to push off Geralt.

“Get him out of here Witcher. I’ll not have him in here picking fights with patrons. You lot as well. I don’t know what started it but I’ve no doubt it was your fault. Pick up your friend and go!” The innkeeper shouts, finally stepping in since Geralt has restrained Jaskier. 

The two patrons argue for a moment but finally relent and throw the first man’s arms over their shoulders to shuffle out. Jaskier fights harder against Geralt until they are out of sight. Geralt grumbles under his breath and maneuvers Jaskier around before lifting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“Hey! Geralt! Put me down! Geralt! My lute! I can’t leave my lute!” Jaskier protests, hitting at Geralt’s back half heartedly.

Geralt growls and jostles him harshly. But he turns to snatch the instrument from where Jaskier had stashed it. Once they are outside, Geralt casts his eyes around to make sure the trio isn’t hanging about before dropping Jaskier into the dirt. 

Jaskier squeals on the way down and scowls up at Geralt. “That hurt Geralt,” he complains. 

Geralt returns the expression, arms crossed over his chest “that hurt but the black eye and split lip hardly phased you. What the fuck Jaskier?”

Jaskier gently prods his cheek "a black eye? Really? Oh gods Geralt. I can't perform with a black eye! What will people think!" He pulls himself up off the ground and throws his hands up in despair. 

Geralt growls and stepped closer, boxing Jaskier in against the side of the building. 

"Jaskier. What. Happened?" He grits out, leaning down to force Jaskier to look at him.   
Jaskier shrugs, eyes looking anywhere but at Geralt's face. Any other situation and Jaskier would be thrilled to be pressed against an alley wall by the other man. But now he's all nervous energy. 

Jaskier has royally fucked up "They just said some stuff. Very rude. They didn't get half what they deserved," Jaskiers tone darkens as he speaks and he tries to lean out around Geralt's broad shoulders to find the group. 

At Geralt's warning grumble, Jaskier shakes his head and holds his hands up in surrender. "No no you're right. They're not worth it. I'm totally over it. You're finished your contract right? Let's just move on. No way they’re going to let me back in there huh?" Jaskier laughs though it lacks any real humour. 

He's brushing the ordeal off like it isn't a big deal. If he believes it enough, then perhaps he can convince Geralt as well. Geralt eyes him skeptically but he doesn't stop Jaskier from slipping around him and heading for the stables. 

Once they have Roach, who is less than happy to be pulled out of the warmth of the stable, Geralt leaves him with strict orders to speak to no one while the Witcher goes back to the inn to collect their belongings. 

"There's a spot just outside town we can camp for the night," Geralt informs him when he returns. 

Jaskier follows easily after him, as docile as he's ever been. Just glad to put the town and all its trouble behind them. He had made a mistake acting so rashly in the tavern and he needs to remember it's more important to keep his image as a harmless bard intact than to beat into a pulp anyone who insulted Geralt. There are more subtle ways to change the minds of men and that is the path he needed to take. 

He builds up a fire while Geralt goes off into the woods in the hopes of finding them some food. He feels bad, sending Geralt out to hunt for their supper considering it was his fault they weren't eating at the inn. But Geralt wouldn't consider sending Jaskier to do it. So he sets the fire going and cooks some of the veggies he had bought earlier. Geralt comes back with two rabbits which he quickly skins and starts to roast. 

By the time they finish eating and clean up their small camp, it's well into the night. Jaskier clutches his thin blanket around his shoulders and draws his bedroll as close to the fire as he possibly can without risking burning himself through the night. 

“That’s it” Jaskier sighs, trying to scoot closer to the fire in vain. “I’m going to freeze to death. You’re going to wake up in the morning to an ice sculpture that sadly resembles a bard.”

Geralt snorts, seemingly unbothered by the chill in the air, “if you hadn’t started a fight, you could have been in a bed right now.”   
Jaskier groans, throwing his arm over his face dramatically, “it’s not my fault! I had to teach them a lesson.”

Geralt huffs and propped himself up on his elbow so he can peer over at Jaskier, “you still haven’t told me what they said. You're not normally violent. Nor close-lipped about anything.”

“They just…they insulted you. Said some disgusting things and I snapped,”Jaskier deflates into the ground at the admission. “It doesn’t matter anyway because I’m going to catch hypothermia out here. How are you not freezing?” 

“You can’t fight everyone who doesn’t like witchers, or me personally Jaskier. You’ll get yourself killed,” Geralt warns, frowning at the bard. 

It's touching, sort of, that Jaskier felt the need to defend him like that but the last thing Geralt wants is Jaskier getting hurt on his behalf. There are more people that dislike Witchers than like them, it seemed. Jaskier couldn’t fight them all. Let alone that he just knows Jaskier is going to have a melodramatic breakdown when he realizes how bruised his eye is going to be. 

Jaskier huffs a laugh in response "I can try. Besides I could have totally handled that. This cold though. I'm not built for the cold," he whines, shivering dramatically. 

Geralt takes a slow breath, exasperated with the bard. He pulls himself out of the comfort of his own blanket to find his heavy cloak in his packs. Found, he tosses it over to Jaskier where it landed squarely on the brunet's face. "Now go to sleep. And no more fighting patrons in my name."

Jaskier flails for a moment to get out from under the thick wool. He gapes at the Witcher as he settles back down by the fire and pointedly turns his back. Jaskier bites his lip to disguise the grin threatening to break out on his face and arranges the cloak over himself. "Thank you, Geralt."

He gets no response and soon finds himself drifting off. In the morning, he pulls himself out of his bed to help Geralt pack the camp up. "We're going to have to stop sleeping outside soon. It's going to get too cold even for you soon," Jaskier hums, still wrapped in Geralt's cloak. 

Geralt lifts a shoulder in a shrug, strapping bags back onto Roach's saddle. "We're at Kaedwan's border at any rate." 

Jaskier squints at him for a long moment, trying to piece together what Kaedwan had to do with the impending winter. But it doesn't come together so Jaskier waves at him to explain. Geralt gives him a look as if Jaskier is a small child. "Every autumn. For as long as we've known each other, we reach the Kaedwan border and by the first frost we split paths."

Jaskier has to think it over for a long moment. But then, he is right. Shortly after passing into Kaedwan they would part company for the winter. How had he not noticed the trend, observant as he is? "But why? What does Kaedwan have to-" it hits Jaskier like a slap. He swallows hard. "Kaer Morhen. The Witcher keep. You winter with the other Witchers." 

Geralt eyes him, turning to face the bard more fully. His hands rest on his hips, "yes, I spend the winter at Kaer Morgen with my brothers."

Jaskier nods slowly. "Right. Uhm. Are there many? I mean, your brother's. How many do you have?"

Geralt gives him an odd look. Probably beginning to be suspicious about how nervous Jaskier suddenly seems. But Jaskier is beginning to freak out a bit. How many Witchers had he passed by all these years without noticing? Geralt trusted him. Trusted him enough that he brushed off Jaskiers small missteps that might have otherwise tipped the Witcher off that there was something other about Jaskier. But a bunch of strange Witchers roaming around might not be so willing to accept his cover of harmless bard. 

"Only three that follow the Path like me. Vesemir stays at Kaer Morhen now." Golden eyes watch for his reaction. "Why do you ask, Jaskier?" 

Jaskier shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Three Witchers weren't so bad. He could keep an eye out for three hulking men dressed in black. What were the chances they'd cross paths at any rate? "Just curious about your life, dear heart." 

Geralt purses his lips and stares Jaskier down. The bard is odd, he knows this. He had worried about it initially, that first summer they travelled together. Whatever was off about the man, he hid it well. But Geralt knew what to look for. His senses told him Jaskier wasn't human, and every once and a while his medallion hummed when Jaskier was around. Usually when the bard was doing some menial tasks, occasionally while he was sleeping. 

For a time, he had been convinced Jaskier was some monster, stalking him and playing a long game. But then he just never made a move. To all appearances, Jaskier really is just a wandering troubadour. Silver didn't bother him, nor did the moon affect him. He ate a normal diet, if he tended towards an ungodly amount of alcohol. 

Geralt had spent the first winter after their meeting scouring the libraries at the Keep for answer. But nothing ever fit and so eventually Geralt let it go. Jaskier was a good friend, and those were few and far between for Witchers. Geralt's...fond of him and if Jaskier was something not quite human, well he was harmless enough. 

The nervous energy wafting off of him however is so out of character it sticks out like a sore thumb. Jaskier is rarely nervous of anything. In fact he's generally overconfident to a fault. But Geralt can't imagine why the mention of his brothers would make the bard nervous. If he was wary of Witchers for some reason, why would he seek out Geralt every spring? Why spend all this time by his side if Jaskier had something against them? 

It makes Geralt wary, puts him on edge in a way he doesn't like. Geralt has grown used to being at ease around his companion and doesn't like the thought that it's been a ruse. Perhaps all part of the secret motive Jaskier has for hiding his true identity all this time. if there's one weakness he's discovered the brunet has, its silence. He has a nearly compulsive need to fill every silence with some sort of noise. Hes also aware Jaskier is especially susceptible to filling silence when under the weight of Geralts glare for any amount of time.

So Geralt simply folds his arms and waits for him to elaborate.

"Really Geralt-" mere seconds have passed- "Just some warning if you're going to introduce me to your family would be nice. That's all. I make a stunning first impression, true. But only because I'm prepared," Jaskier busies himself with gathering the last of their things, throwing a casual smile over his shoulder.

Geralt grunts, not entirely convinced but satisfied for the moment. "I doubt we'll run into the others, don't worry bard. Where will you go for the winter?"

Jaskier shrugs, glad to be on safe ground again. "I might find some nice noble to put me up for the winter. Or perhaps I'll head to Oxenfurt."

Geralt hums "to the academy? I didn't know you studied there." 

Jaskier had studied at the academy a lifetime ago, had considered going back as a professor when he got bored of roaming. But the thought had been dismissed after he had started traveling with Geralt. He would have to adjust his glamour to account for a reasonable age and he isn't quite ready to do that. "Seems like ages ago," he says instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter, the paragraph spacing is a bit better for everyone! Please let me know :)
> 
> Also hope you all enjoy this chapter. Getting some sparks and I had fun delving into their thoughts more, let me know if you did too!


	5. chapter 5

Jaskier doesn't make it to a nobles court that winter. He stalks Geralt to the pass in the mountains that no doubt leads to Kaer Morhen but no further. They had technically parted company two weeks prior but Jaskier wanted to know where Geralt went, where to be when the warm weather brought his Witcher back to him.

Hes walking on thin ice, Jaskier knows. Playing with fire as it were, entertaining his feelings for the Witcher. But sometimes Geralt looks at him, like he really sees him. Like he cares about Jaskier. And there's the touching. Geralt isn't a physical person. But he doesn't shy away from Jaskiers affectionate gestures. When they huddle up by the fire on cold nights, or share a bed at a crowded inn, Jaskier always wakes up tangled with the man.

When they split up, or when Geralt says goodbye to him at least, he even makes a point of telling Jaskier what town he stops in to get supplies in the spring. In case Jaskier wants to meet him. It makes Jaskier feel warm inside. Warm and wanted, something Jaskier doesn't often feel.

But as he travels through the thick woods of Kaedwan's forests after truly seeing Geralt off, he feels something else he hasn't in a long time. Fae magic. He wants to turn in the opposite direction and get as far away as he can but he's still so close to the pass that leads to Kaer Morhen and what if the fae is after the Witchers? He can't risk ignoring it.  
So Jaskier steals himself and lets his own magic unfurl around him. It takes him almost no effort to track the other Fae. They're not trying to hide from him or anyone else for that matter. Although when they feel Jaskiers magic wrap around them, pushing their own influence smaller and smaller, they panic like a rabbit in a snare.

Jaskier pushes through the trees into a clearing, a feral snarl complete with his sharp Fae fangs already on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He demands the moment his eyes land on the other Fae.

He isn't even glamoured. Shrinking away from him with wide black eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth. High, sharp cheekbones and a curtain of green hair sprinkled with small pink flowers. A Flora Fae.

"Lord. Apologies, I didn't know there were others here." His voice is like wind whispering through trees. He twists long fingers together anxiously.

Jaskier shakes his head. "there isn't a passageway anywhere near here. Why are you so far without a glamour? What's your name?"

"I go by Reshi, lord. I've been avoiding humans, I swear it. No one's seen me. I'm just not very good at maintaining the illusion."

"Reshi," Jaskier groans, pulling a hand over his face, "there are those who can sense your magic. If you don't know this, you shouldn't be out of the Wild." He hates that he's lecturing the poor fae. But anyone with a lick of magic would be able to sense him. And with the Witchers keep not far, the chances of being detected are particularly high.

Reshi nods solemnly, pulling himself up to stand. Jaskier sees the cut on his leg, three long claw marks oozing the Fae's sticky, sap like blood. "You're right Lord, of course. It's my first time in this realm."

He wants to just go, leave the Fae to his devices and hope the idiot doesn't get himself killed in the process. But he can't look away from the wound. It needs healed lest it get infected. Outside of the Wild, the Flora Fae's healing is slowed and there's just so much iron around them.

So he walks over and ushers Reshi to sit. He rolls up the thin fabric like he's done for Geralt a hundred times. But instead of bandaging it and letting the Witcher's metabolism do the rest, this time Jaskier cups his hands around the wound, allowing his magic to draw energy from around them and into the Fae's leg in a pulse of bright light. The skin knits itself closed before his eyes. How many times has he wanted to do this for his Witcher? Heal all his aches and injuries with a whisper of his power. Using it on the Fae before him almost feels wrong. Like he's cheating on Geralt, or taking something from him.

Reshi beams at him, "many thanks, lord. The wildlife here is...less than friendly. Some wild cat tried to eat me!"

"A mountain lion, Reshi. You got attacked by a mountain lion. Now answer me. Why are you here?" Jaskier was a master of skirting around answers and half truths. He wouldn't be so easily misdirected.

Reshi blushes a delicate pink "I've taken it upon myself to explore this realm and all it has to offer," he spreads his arms wide and grins. The look of innocent hope is somewhat ruined by the sharp teeth and too wide eyes.

Jaskier now knows how Geralt must feel sometimes, dealing with him. “And you took this upon yourself because? Come on Reshi, a straight and full answer. I’m not going to make you go back unless you’re a danger. Are you dangerous?”

Reshi’s face falls. “No, lord. I’m not dangerous. I’m supposed to be serving Lady Briony, do you know her lord? But I just, I don’t know. I won’t spend my life scraping and serving a woman who is just...she's just so cruel Lord. And there’s so much beauty in the world. In the Wild and here! I mean, look at these trees. Winter is setting in and yet they’re still here. Look! I found these flowers! Persevering through the frost!” Reshi plucks the small yellow buds from the blanket beside him. Dandelions. Jaskier gives him a wry smile.

He hasn’t seen Briony in ages. Which is a blessing in itself. Cruel is an understatement. Leaving the Wild without the permission of the court is a grave offense. Briony could very well put him to death if he’s returned before her anger blows over. If she didn’t spend a lifetime torturing him first. The sweet summer child before him didn’t deserve that. So Jaskier takes the flower from Reshi and tucks one behind his ear.

“You’ll need to learn how to hold a glamour properly if you’re going to stay then.”

Reshi beams at him, nods eagerly and draws his magic around him like a cloak. Slowly his features morph into something more human. Teeth blunt. His face fills out, still angular and pretty but within the bounds of humanity. Full lips, maybe a little prettier than typical for a man. Eyes turn almond shaped and take on the bright green of spring grass. Hair turns black and silky, the flowers fade away. He's delicate and pretty but human. Jaskier nods happily.

They spend the evening in the woods. Jaskier starts a fire and cooks what’s left of the vegetables he has in his pack while he sends Reshi off to forage for any berries he can find so late in the autumn. Flora fae don’t eat meat so he can’t exactly send him off in search of something more substantial.

When the morning comes, Jaskier packs them up and leads Reshi behind him. They won't get far without much food to hold them over, and Jaskier doesn’t want to risk bringing a fresh Fae into a human court. So they bounce between small towns until Jaskier finds one big enough with an inn that’ll put them up in exchange for Jaskier’s performance.

Reshi seems content to follow him around and mill about the town. Jaskier spends most of his days writing and playing his music. It's a good opportunity to test out new songs. The crowd is responsive and happy to hear something different.

While Jaskier works, Reshi explores. It's a change of dynamic for Jaskier that he doesn't altogether hate. There's something fulfilling about taking care of someone who needs him. Reshi explores everywhere and anywhere he can manage and does an impressive job of staying out of mischief. He comes back in the evenings and regales Jaskier with all the new things he has discovered. He’s like a little puppy and it makes Jaskier wonder if this is how Geralt feels when they’re together. Exhausted and exasperated by the never ending enthusiasm.

Except it's so damned charming, watching him discover things. Trivial things Jaskier had come to take for granted in his many years in the realm. One evening as they eat supper and talk about how Reshi had played dice with a group of children, Jaskier leans over and kisses him.

His lips are soft and pliant under Jaskier, Reshi leans into the kiss, his hands tentatively cupping Jaskier’s jaw. When Jaskier pulls back, Reshi stares at him with wide eyes full of shock. He traces the outline of his lips tentatively.

“Julian?” Reshi asks quietly.

Julian, the name sours the moment a bit. He hadn’t given Reshi his true name lest he connect the dots. If the Fae goes back to the Wild and tells anyone about his winter in the human world with Jaskier, it’ll ruin the life he’s built.

“You’re very pretty, you know?” Reshi flushes a rosy pink at the compliment. “I can’t offer you anything serious. Or long term. I have a commitment in the spring.”

Reshi bites his lip “I have you until the spring then?” when Jaskier nods, Reshi leans in again.

Bolder now with the reassurance. He ends up in Jaskier’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck while Jaskier’s hands settle on a slim waist. Their hips rock together and Jaskier has to bite back a groan at the friction. He picks the smaller man up and carries him over to the bed, settling him into the lumpy mattress. They move together, Reshi arching up against him. Their clothes fall to the floor in a flurry of hands and needy gasps.

When they lay in the bed later, a mess of sheets and limbs, Reshi idly plays with the hair on Jaskier’s chest. “Will you show me what you really look like, Julian?”

Jaskier presses a kiss into the top of Reshi’s head “no, Reshi.”

The Fae turns to look up at him and pouts “why not?”

Jaskier lifts his head to nip at Reshi’s bottom lip where he’s sticking it out. “Because that would give away my secret identity. You think you’re the only one in hiding, buttercup?”

Reshi gives him a scandelized look but settles back down onto Jaskier’s chest. “Will you tell me how you make all those wonderful songs? We can’t lie but your songs aren’t the truth either.”

Jaskier lets his mouth tug into a grin. He’s proud of his music. Not just because he is a legendary bard by human standards- which he is- but because he creates. His songs have never been heard before.

“A loophole perhaps. I had a dear friend, a very long time ago. And he was a gifted storyteller. Not as skilled with a lute as I am, but you can’t have everything. Anyway, dear friend. Many obligations. Couldn’t take advantage of his gifts. So we made a trade.” Jaskier shrugs under him.

It's not uncommon for Fae to make deals with humans so Reshi won't question the details. And in the barest sense, that is the truth even if there's so much more there to complicate things.

Jaskier wouldn't have made it as far as he had if it wasn't for Julian. The real Julian. His first tru friend in the human realm and one of the only people that really understood Jaskier. Well worth making a deal with.

Deals are the most powerful magic any Fae have access to, it's as natural as breathing. But it’s dirty. Most Fae use the power to their advantage. Talking around the truth and making promises that only benefit themselves. It's how they get such a bad name among humans. His deal with Julian is one of the only he’s ever made and he was sure that that deal was just as good for his friend as for him.

****

_Lord Pankratz, future Viscount of Lettenhove, took any and all opportunity to push against the restrictions his title created for him. He performed his duties, no doubt about that. There were people that counted on him to do his duties and keep Lettenhove running smoothly. His father was elderly and despite still holding the title, he hadn't really run the estate in years._

_Viscount-hood was the last thing he would have chosen for himself, hence how he found himself piss drunk at an inn, regaling a group of townsfolk with tale after tale. His words slurred and he often trailed off before abruptly jumping back into his story, but still the other patrons were happy to listen in._

_A good head for numbers and a kind heart served Lord Pankratz well as a Viscount, but he was a gifted storyteller to boot. A smooth voice and instinctual timing that wove every story into a magical tale. When he was sober he could sell ice to a penguin. Drunk, he still drew a large crowd._

_In the back of the tavern, nursing a drink and eyeing the crowded room, sat Jaskier. He'd met the Viscount at a ball the previous month, in between wowing the crowd with his skilled use of a lute, and the duo had hit it off. Jaskier loved causing mischief and Julian Pankratz was an all too willing conspirator. Not to mention powerful enough to keep them from any real consequences. So despite the other commitments Jaskier had lined up, a series of notable performances at the houses of several noblemen, Jaskier put them off in favour of making a new friend. His first friend, since his arrival in the human realm nearly half a century ago._

_Nearly six years later, Julian's father passed away while Jaskier is out traveling the continent. His dear friend sends word of the loss and Jaskier drops everything to be with him. He commiserates with the man over many bottles of port and whiskey. When Julian is too drunk to remember why he's sad, they play jokes on the households staff. Thankfully they're all used to the mischief that Jaskier brings with him and humor the pair as best they can. It's one of these such nights that Julian proposes the deal. Jaskier turns him down without a thought. He had sworn off deals the minute he set foot into this realm. And Julian is drunk. He doesn't know what he's asking._

_But then the Viscount keeps bringing it up. Drunk, sober, over meals, he even interrupts Jaskier in a bath. So Jaskier considers. He adjusts the terms so Julian will get his worth out of it. He weighs the cost with his magic, that inner sense that tells him when it'll be enough. To truely give, he has to take in equal measure. It doesn't always work the same the other way around. But he wants to take care of his friend. When he feels satisfied, he broaches it with Julian. The next day, Jaskier the troubador, bard of growing renown, is born and Viscount Pankratz rises to his father's legacy._

****

It isn’t until Reshi comes back from a hike, crowing about the sweet little birds he heard in the trees that it hits Jaskier. The weather has been warming, there’s hardly any snow on the ground. Birds are singing. Spring is here. He feels bad, crushing the man’s sparkling mood with a heavy conversation. But they knew this was coming and it wasn’t like he hadn’t just heard how Reshi had bedded the baker’s daughter the week before and the butcher’s son the week before that. They aren’t tied together.

“Reshi, you need a plan. I’ve got to leave. In the morning I think. What are you going to do now?”

Reshi’s face falls. He twists long fingers together for a moment. “Are you sure? We could travel, if it’s the town. You’ve seen so much of the world and I haven’t seen any of it.”

Jaskier pushes his hand through Reshi’s hair, tries to give him a comforting smile. Some part of the bard has fallen for the naive Fae. It doesn’t rival the pull deep in his bones, urging him back to the town he’s supposed to meet Geralt in though. Even as he is mourning the end of this fling, he’s worried he’s too late and that Geralt will have moved on without him.

“No, Reshi. I told you when we started this, I was only going to be here until the spring. It’s spring. Now you need to figure out what you’re going to do with your life. I assume you’re not going back to the Wild.”

Reshi curls his lip and shakes his head quickly “definitely not! Maybe I’ll stay for a bit. I could get a job! A real job!”

Jaskier snorts, drawing back now that he knows Reshi isn’t too upset. “Are you saying I don't have a real job? My fake job has been paying for our food this entire winter,” he teases.

Reshi gapes for a moment then shakes his head, letting out a peeling laugh like windchimes “of course not, lovely. You’re a wonderful...bread winner. That’s the right term right?”

Jaskier ruffles the Fae’s hair as he stands to pass him. Reshi watches him as he goes about packing up their room. The happy smile gradually settles into a fond smile, the man curls up as much as one can on a small wooden chair and watches his lover pile his belongings into a bag.

Jaskier urges Reshi again as he finishes packing, to come up with a plan. They’ve talked about it in passing, of course, what Reshi is going to do with the rest of his very long life. But he’s yet to make an actual decision.

“Maybe I’ll go to a big city. A real city. I like to bake. The baker’s daughter, Ophelia, she’s been showing me how to make some things and I think I’m really quite good. I could be a baker in a big city. Or a small town. Maybe a tiny little village with lots of attractive young men and women to fill my nights.” Reshi grins coyly at Jaskier.

Jaskier leaves early the next morning. Early for a Fae that likes to waste the day away dozing at any rate. But he wants to make a quick time of getting back to that little town he’s supposed to meet Geralt in. So with a final kiss to Reshi’s full lips, he’s off, splitting the coin he’s made over the winter with the other Fae to give him a start.

When he does reach the town, he starts asking around for any sign of his Witcher. No one seems to have heard of him yet though the tavern owner, a weathered old man with a big beard and bigger gut does know who Jaskier is talking about. So he orders himself some food and settles in at a table. He’ll play for a couple days and see if Geralt decides to pass through. It's not a big town and he isn’t likely to make more coin than he’s spending but he’s content to wait for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of poorly veiled backstory! The real Julian isn't super important to our story so I didn't want to go too in depth there.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! Love hearing from you all ❤️


	6. chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy sorry its been ages since I updated. I was doing so good at posting once a week or so. Life got me distracted but here we are.   
> This chapter was also the end of what I had written ahead. So I'm writing furiously to be prepared for the next chapter!

Geralt rides Roach into town,the piebald horse trotting beside him. Atop the other horse sits a woman with wildly curling hair and eyes that sparkle in the dying sunlight.

“Why do we need to stop here again, Geralt?” Triss chirps, glancing around the meager houses on the outskirts of the town. 

“I promised to meet a friend here. So we’re going to wait for him to show up and then I’ll help you,” Geralt huffed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. 

Triss nods, smiling indulgently at him, “Geralt of Rivia, famed White Wolf, has a friend. How sweet.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at her. If they hadn’t been friends for so long he might be more agitated with her. “Wait! Is this friend that wonderful bard that keeps writing songs about you?” she crows, leaning over to grab his arm excitedly. 

The answering grunt only makes Triss laugh. She's used to Geralt's moods by now. And she can't deny how excited she is to meet the famed bard that's been spreading word of Geralt's adventures the past few years. He's done wonders for public opinion of Witchers as a whole. Considering how fond she is of the Witchers of Kaer Morhen, shes very grateful for the mysterious troubadour.

They make their first stop at the stable to put the horses up for the night. It's a small place with only a handful of other horses munching contentedly at their hay. Roach gets put in the farthest stall, away from Triss's horse who settles in next to the other horses.  
Roach isn’t particularly fond of Comet. Not that Roach is particularly friendly towards most other horses. Or people. It's really only Geralt that the mare likes. Probably why the two grumps get on so well.

They get set up at the inn down the road once the horses are squared away. The family running it, an elderly couple with what seems like an ever growing host of grandchildren lending a hand, greet Geralt like he’s an old friend. He’s been passing through this town since they were newlyweds. He'd deny it, but he's fond of the family and its become something of a tradition to stop in with them for a night when he sets out every spring.

This time Geralt asks for two rooms, which Geralt makes clear to Triss is so they can each have their own. Once upon a time he would have gladly shared a bed with the sorceress. But their relationship has changed over the years and though he wonders if she still holds feelings for him beyond friendship, he has no interest in revisiting that.

“Let's get a drink, Geralt. See if your bard is wandering about somewhere,” Triss nudges him with her shoulder and links their arms. She urges him out of the inn and down the street towards the tavern. 

Geralt knows as soon as he pushes the door open that Jaskier is already there. He can hear the music well before he sees him. Geralt leads Triss to a table, golden eyes searching out the source of the lilting tune as he moves. They take up a table in the back of the room and look around. 

Jaskier has taken up a corner of the room, the nearby window lets a stream of sunlight in to dance across his face. He’s balancing a chair on two legs, feet propped up on a table. His head tipped back and eyes closed. He’s immersed in the song and Geralt is content to leave him for the time being now that he knows where the bard is. 

Triss orders them some food; venison and potatoes, and begins tapping her feet in time with Jaskier’s music. She keeps eyeing Geralt, like she's waiting for him to jump out of his chair and start flipping tables. He lets it go for a few minutes but it's putting him on edge. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He finally snaps.

Triss raises her hands in surrender, casting another wary look between Jaskier and the Witcher, "nothing. It's nothing. Don't worry about it. So, ah, where's your bard? Seems like this tavern already has one. Should we move on?" 

She's trying not to tip him off about the man in the corner, plucking out a tune. Even if she hadn't recognized him in an instant, she can feel the wild energy hovering around him. He screams Fae even though shes pretty sure he's making an effort to conceal his magic. 

The fact that Geralt isn't concerned about it or hasn't noticed that there's a Fae in their midst, is putting her on edge. How will he react when he realizes? She's not entirely sure what the Witcher stance is on Fae but generally they aren't fans of things that aren't human. The last thing she wants to see is Geralt start a fight with any Fae, but especially this Fae in particular. 

But then Geralt waves a hand in Jaskiers direction, who has pulled himself up to dance lithely around the small corner he's taken charge of. "That is my bard. The bard. That's Jaskier." 

Triss chokes on her drink, coughing and sputtering in a way that draws the attention of the patrons at other tables. "That's Jaskier? You uh, do you know him well?" 

Geralt can't figure out what's got Triss making such a scene. He waits, hoping she's going to explain herself. "Well enough, he talks non stop. Do you know him? Whats wrong with you?"

"I do, yes. I met Jaskier-" 

"Seems like a lifetime ago!" Jaskier is beside them in a blink, ruffling Geralt's hair playfully.  
"Triss darling, so good to see you."

Triss can't help but laugh at the put out expression on Geralt's face, even as unnerved as she is. "And you...Jaskier," she tries out the unfamiliar name with a smile. 

There's a glint in the bard's eyes as he slides into a chair beside Geralt that warns her not to ask questions. Not to ask questions yet anyway. Jaskier snags Geralt's mug and takes a long drink. "I've been here for three days, dear heart. I was beginning to think you had left without me."

Geralt snatches his mug back "I told you we would meet here."

Jaskier grins fondly at the Witcher and pats him on the shoulder "I know you did dearest. Now to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Triss?" 

Triss launches into filling Jaskier in on her contract for Geralt. Some kind of curse is Triss's theory. The ruins of an old keep, supposedly the last seen location of a highborn lady and her forbidden lover. Of those who enter, half go missing, those who do leave come out barely knowing their own name. No one knows what's happening and getting anywhere near the keep makes Triss physically ill. 

It's a strange situation, Geralt admits. But he's hesitant to agree it's a curse. Usually curses affect either a person or a place. Not usually both. But he can't think of what monster could be causing the occurrences either. Jaskier puzzles it over while the duo bounce ideas off each other. Monsters certainly aren't his area of expertise but he still tries to run through what he does know to try and make it fit. What a puzzle the sorceress has brought them.

It'd take nearly a fortnight to get to their destination by foot but Triss assures them she can portal the trio there. Jaskier frowns at that idea, portals and Fae don't really mix. 

He's also sure Triss knows this and can't help but wonder if she's trying to push him into giving something away. But there's no way to broach it, or reproach her without making the Witcher beside him suspicious. His hands are tied, so he says nothing. They agree to set off in the morning so they can all get rest and prepare. It buys Jaskier a little time as well. No doubt Triss is looking for any opportunity to corner him and grill him about his and Geralt's relationship.

Geralt knows theres some sort of tension brewing between the pair but can't seem to suss out what they're dancing around. They eye each other cautiously when they think he isn't watching. Is there an old feud between them? A relationship gone south? Triss isn't one to hold a grudge but Jaskier has burned more than a few bridges in his time. There's naught for him to do at any rate, except to let them work it out and hope for the best.

When they turn in for the night, Jaskier doesn't bother getting undressed or settling in. It's a matter of time before Triss shows up at his door, no doubt about that. She had sent him a meaningful night when the trip parted for their individual rooms.  
Sure enough there's a light knock at the door a few minutes after he had entered and he opens it to reveal Triss, anxiously wringing her hands. Jaskier steps to the side and waves her in. 

"So...Jaskier? Is that your real name or a moniker like Dandelion?" Triss asks, making her way into the room curiously.

Jaskier crosses his arms and leans casually against the closed door. He watches her look around his room, for what he isn't sure, and offers her a sly grin "does it matter?"

Triss lifts a delicate shoulder in a shrug, sitting lightly on the edge of his bed, "maybe not, but how much does Geralt know?" 

"Geralt knows the important things, lovely."

Triss scoffs "he's a Witcher, dandelion. What you are is important."

Jaskier frowns at his feet, "what I am is a bard, that's all Geralt sees and it's all he needs to."

"He can't sense your magic?" She demands, turning over the problem in her head. 

Jaskier lifts a shoulder noncommitally, "I keep it in check, don't use magic much when he's around. Some delicate spell work so that medallion doesn't out me."

Triss stands, "he needs to know who he's travelling with, Jaskier. You can't keep something like this from him," she tries to move past him but Jaskier is blocking the door. 

He holds his hands up, in surrender or to push her back she isn't sure. "Triss please, don't tell him. I'll tell him, I'm just...I'm not ready...he's going to hate me when he finds out and I'm not ready for him to look at me like a monster. I just want a little more time, a bit longer where he just thinks I'm an annoying human. Before he makes me leave," Jaskier pleads, catching Triss's hands in his. 

Triss stares at him for a long moment, like he's some kind of puzzle she can figure out if she just looks long enough. Her eyebrows shoot up and she fights a smile, "you're in love with him, aren't you? Truely, deeply in love." 

Jaskier bites his lip, cheeks flushing. He suddenly has trouble meeting the sorceress's eyes. His head thumps back against the wall with defeat. "I've never been so taken with someone. And I know, Triss, I know he's a Witcher and I've got no chance, especially when he finds out who I am. But please, just let me enjoy this a little while longer."

Triss gives his hands a squeeze before she pulls back, "I'll keep your secret but in exchange you've got to do everything in your power to help Geralt with this contract." 

Jaskier leans away like he's been slapped, arms cross against his chest and he shakes his head, "you know I don't make deals, Darling."

Triss mimics his posture, staring him down, "I do. But this is important to both of us. So if you want me to keep your secret, that's my price." 

"I could just make you keep it," Jaskier lets his glamour fall away just enough to show his true eyes, startlingly blue without pupils or whites. .

Triss doesn't flinch, unnerving as the sight is. "You won't. Because as unwilling as you are to make a deal, I know you won't hurt me. And you won't risk outing yourself to Geralt either."

Jaskier blinks, and his eyes are normal once again. She's right, it was a half-hearted bluff at best. He's fond of Triss, doesn't like hurting anyone to begin with. But he really does hate making deals. But he won't risk Triss changing her mind and outing him after she leaves. 

"You won't tell Geralt what I am, not by word nor indication, until I've told him. I'll do everything in my power to see the contract has a favourable end. We have a deal?" He grits his teeth at the words, at the way his magic turns cloying and scratches unpleasantly at his skin. But when Triss nods, he leans in and plants a chaste kiss on her lips.

Like kissing a sister, except for the way magic pricks over them and settles like a heavy weight on his chest. It'll sink in, leaving nothing but a faintly charged sensation until Jaskiers end is fulfilled. Triss is left with a faint black ring circling her wrist, a reminder of her side of the bargain lest she try to go back on her word. 

“Tell me how you got messed up in a contract like this?” Jaskier hums, leading her back towards the bed. He perches on the edge of the table in the corner, looks over the sorceress. 

She, much like Jaskier, hasn’t changed much at all in the years since they’ve seen each other, though there’s a sharpness in her eyes that Jaskier doesn’t remember being there before. Triss seems to have a penchant for the cursed, it's the second mystery curse she's brought Geralt in to deal with. Hopefully with his resistance to magic he'll be able to get in and find out what's happening. 

Jaskier thinks over the scant details that she has long after Triss leaves him, racking his brain to figure out what could actually be happening. He's not experienced with magic curses. Generally he makes a point of avoiding other magic creatures, which is funny considering he's found himself travelling with two magic beings. He eventually curls up in bed and allows sleep to take him. It's fitful and not actually very restful in the end, the deal sitting like a stone in his stomach. But he sleeps anyway and tries not to dwell too much. 

They're up with the sun, Geralt marching into his room unceremoniously like he knows he's going to have to threaten violence to get Jaskier out of bed. The bard barely managed a scant few hours of rest with all the tossing and turning, and he's not excited for the havoc a portal is going to wreak on his body. But there's no avoiding it if he wants to stick with Geralt. And there's no way he's going to let Geralt take on some unidentified magic without Jaskiers help. 

Triss brings them out into the open field behind the Inn after Geralt has made arrangements for their horses. With a final challenging look to Jaskier, she opens a portal and waves them through. Jaskier takes a deep breath, stealing himself against what's to come and steps through after Geralt. 

he's being clawed apart. Like the magic of the portal is trying to skin him, rip his limbs violently from his body, tear his magic from the very essence of his being. He throws up the minute his feet hit the ground, dropping to his knees lest he pass out. The world swims before him. Everything sounds like he's under water. 

His glamour is shaky at best, Jaskier hastily pushes his magic into reinforcing it while he takes several deep breaths and focuses. Geralt is beside him in an instant, hand on Jaskiers shoulder to steady him. 

"Jask, are you alright?" Geralt demands, fingers rubbing soothing circles into the top of his back.

Jaskier tries to stand only to be hit with another wave of nausea that has him lean heavily into Geralt's side. Geralt draws him closer, letting Jaskier press his head into the side of Geralt's neck. The heady scent of woodsmoke, leather, and earth calms his overstimulated nerves.

If he wasn't concentrating so hard on not throwing up again, Jaskier would be in heaven. 

"What did you do, Triss? What's wrong with him?" Geralt snaps, voice gruff. 

Triss is watching the pair with a mix of surprise and curiosity. The last time she had seen Jaskier go through a portal, his glamour had shattered and he had puked blood. For hours. 

"Some people don't react well to portals," she shrugs instead of saying what she wants to. The mark around her wrist burns faintly in warning at the thought of telling Geralt exactly why Jaskier doesn't portal well.

Jaskier groans and pulls himself out of Geralt's arms "I'm alright dearest. Just a little faint."

Geralt's gold eyes bore into him, watching for any sign that there's something more wrong. But Jaskier was prepared for what was coming when he stepped through the portal and already he's getting a better grip on himself.

"come on love, let's go break a curse," he hums, holding out a hand to help Geralt up.

Despite Geralt certainly not needing help, and the fact that Jaskier was the one feeling unwell, Geralt takes his hand and allows the bard to pull him to his feet. 

Triss gives them a moment before taking over once again and leading them towards the fallen keep. She's portalled them just up the road so it isn't a long trek to the gate. The cobblestones are uneven, weeds poking through cracked stones and the forest is starting to encroach on the road, so unused as of late.  
Triss waves a hand at the doorway in front of them. Vines have begun to creep up the walls and the courtyard beyond is covered in a layer of dead leaves and debris.  
"I've never been past the gate. If I go, I'll be violently ill until I'm pulled back. As far as I can tell it doesn't have that effect on anyone aside from mages. We don't know what happens once you're inside. Only that no one remembers and that they mostly die, like I've said." 

Geralt adjusts the straps holding his swords to his back and gives a sharp nod. "Stay with Triss, Jaskier." 

Jaskier gapes at him and quickly rushes after him. "Not a chance. I'm coming with you Geralt and you can't stop me."

Geralt rounds on him, places a hand firmly on the bard's chest, "yes, I can. The place is cursed, Jask. We don't know what we're walking into. If something goes wrong, you'll get yourself killed."

Jaskier flounders for a moment, there is no telling if the curse will affect him like a human. It might even affect him like it had Triss. Or not at all. But Geralt is human-a Witcher sure, but primarily still human- so it could kill him as the others. Or whatever is waiting in there could kill him. Not to mention the deal he has with Triss.  
"I didn't just go through that portal and puke my guts out to wait on the sidelines Geralt. Besides, what if you need back up!" 

Geralt continues to glower at him so Jaskier takes a step back like he's given in, then darts around the Witcher. A rare instance of catching the Witcher by surprise, with the help of a little fae speed, Jaskier is past. Geralt catches the back of Jaskier's shirt and hauls him back, but it doesn't matter. He made it past the doorway, the skid marks of his boots in the dirt prove it. He's as likely to be affected as he ever will be. 

Jaskier grins cheekily at Geralt and waves him ahead once he's been released. Geralt shoots a final look at Triss, "if we aren't back in a day, get Roach and bring her back to the keep." 

Triss rolls her eyes, "I'm not going anywhere near her, Geralt. So you'd better be back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duuuuuh. This is as close to a cliffhanger as I really get lol. What's inside the castle? How will Jaskier manage to ensure his good outcome? And will he manage to keep his not-so-secret secret from Geralt? Tune in next week(?) To find out!
> 
> What did you think? How are we doing? What did you love? What did you hate? :O  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this first chapter.  
> I love feedback, suggestions, what you're hoping for....even just if you like the chapter.  
>  It all keeps me going :)  
> I've got a fair bit written ahead, so if people do enjoy this and want to continue then I'll post more!


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